Beauty Sleep
by Jalen Strix
Summary: The continuing adventures of occasional heroine Sarah Williams, cast around a Sleeping Beauty framework. (This is Story Two in what I'm hoping will become my Labyrinth Fairy Tales series.)
1. Wakeup Call

_As mentioned in the summary, this is Story Two in what I'm hoping will become my Labyrinth Fairy Tales series. "More Fair than Snow" is Story One (set in the same universe), and "The Beast Within" is a Beauty & the Beast frame, but set in a different universe. So much writerly thanks to Netag Silverstar for the suggestion to continue my fairy tale Labyrinth-based reinterpretations in related stories._

* * *

 **Part One: Wakeup Call**

 _In which Sarah obtains some very useful information, much to her chagrin, and a quest is begun._

* * *

I fluttered around my apartment for the umpteenth time before I caught (and mentally kicked) myself. It was worse than when my stepmother set me up on blind dates.

Of course, this wasn't a date. No, no, it was _not_. It was simply Tuesday at 12:55pm, and the Winter Court's Falchion and I had an appointment at 1:00pm.

I wondered if he was the punctual type. Our freshly minted alliance had wiped the bittersweet aftertaste of our previous run-in when I was a teenager, and I realized I really didn't know all that much about him.

To distract myself, I started to run through the things I _did_ know.

One: He used to be the Goblin King, with jurisdiction over the Labyrinth. I didn't actually know if he still was. Being the Falchion didn't necessarily preclude continuing that role, and he and the Labyrinth apparently had a nice little understanding.

Two: He took over the Falchion's mantle from his mother, via surprise attack in the heart of Winter. With my help. After hoodwinking me into becoming Summer's human Champion. Well, to be fair, I _did_ technically volunteer. He just neglected to mention exactly what I'd volunteered for and I, despite my occasional heroine training, neglected to throttle him beforehand for all the details. What can I say? We were on a time crunch. I did finagle lessons on magic from him afterwards at least. Hence today's inaugural appointment.

Three: He had both fae and fallen angel lineage, and neither his mother nor his father had been lightweights in the power department. Not to mention that his father was literally known for being the unspeakably gorgeous fallen angel. Clearly, those genes ran true.

The doorbell rang. I looked at my watch. 1:00 on the dot.

Four: He was the punctual type.

I opened the door.

* * *

To say Jareth was a vision, sitting in my kitchen over a mug of tea, was an understatement. I did a surreptitious check for come-hither glamour remnants, but there was nothing. This was just him, from his perfectly sculpted John Fluevog boots to his I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-perhaps-you'd-care-to-roll-back-in-with-me hair.

He lifted an eyebrow. "You're shaking your head at me."

"Sorry. Just wondering how long it takes to get your hair like that."

He grinned. "Some secrets I'll never tell."

That got a smile out of me. "Let's talk about the ones you _will_ tell, then."

"And where shall we begin your lessons, my Lady?"

"Let's begin by ditching the formal titles, unless you want me calling you 'your Grace'. Here, in my place, it's just you and me. Just Jareth and Sarah."

Something glittered behind his eyes. "Lesson one: for power players like we've become, it's almost never 'just you and me'. Someone's always paying attention."

I swallowed. "Well, why don't you tell me something about this power of mine then, your Grace?"

He took a slow sip of his tea. "I notice you didn't specify your Summer power."

"I didn't."

His lips curled up with a scintillating slowness. "What do you know about Sleeping Beauty?"

"Oh now, stop it. No games. Tell me something true."

"I'm trying to."

"Something true about my power is tied up with Sleeping Beauty? C'mon, what is this, Sarah and Jareth Run Through Major Fairy Tales? We already hit Snow White."

His mouth twitched in what was definitely suppressed laughter.

I drummed my fingers against the table. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"But why would it be like that? I mean, granted, it's probably amusing as hell from an outsider's perspective - especially if they're fond of fairy tales - but still."

He shrugged. "The universe works in mysterious ways and always has its reasons."

"Always, huh?"

"In my experience."

I sighed and took a sip of my tea. "So, Sleeping Beauty."

"Shall we begin with major plot points common to most variants?"

"Might as well." I scrounged back in my memory through Disney's version and Briar Rose. "So, there's some sort of death and doom occurring via a spindle around the age of sixteen, typically due to a wicked fairy's curse." I arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember a close encounter of the spindle kind."

His devil smile flashed again. "How do you know you're the titular character?"

"Educated guess. And I'm pretty sure it's not my mother. She's more the wicked fairy type."

"Indeed she is."

"What, my mother cursed me?"

"More that she was the agent of your misfortune."

I snorted. "Completely typical of her. So, what, she tried to kill me around age sixteen?" I paused. "Actually, there _was_ that nasty car accident we were in, with her as the driver." The fingers of my right hand twitched of their own accord in painful memory. "If the halo of perfection hadn't already been stripped from her, that would have done it. Made for some great college entry essays, though. How My Mother Nearly Killed Me And How I Forgave Her (Mostly)."

Jareth's eyes tracked the involuntary motions of my fingers with predatory precision. "Mmm. And would that accident have perchance resulted in some linen embedded in you?"

I looked at him for a long moment. "From a new linen shirt I was wearing, with lots of lace at the cuffs." I took a very deliberate sip of tea. "And, yes, that fashion influence was yours, if you must know."

He smiled into his own tea. "About the linen?"

I stared at my hand, remembering. "My hand was crushed in the accident. I remember seeing a mangled mess of lace and blood before I passed out. They weren't sure if I'd ever get the full use of my hand back." I fanned my fingers back and forth, a physical reassurance to myself. "Thirteen surgeries later, the outlook was much more promising, but the doctors told me some of the material from the lace had probably been absorbed by my body."

"The doctors were right."

"So, why does it matter, the linen?"

"Did you ever encounter the earlier story incarnations, Talia or Perceforest?"

Something tickled the back of my mind. "I think once or twice, but I don't remember too many specifics."

"Well, the relevant detail is that the curse's instrument was a splinter of flax, rather than a spindle."

A splinter of flax? But why should that...oh. "Linen's made from flax, isn't it?"

"Quite."

"Fine, but even though I have this flax splinter in me, I'm not in a cursed sleep, as far as I'm aware."

He leaned forward then. "Aren't you?"

I stared at him. "You really need to stop doing that, your Grace."

"What's that, my Lady?"

"Throwing out these tantalizing little tag questions. It's irritating as hell."

"I like to think of it as endearing."

I snorted. "Whatever. So tell me exactly how it is I'm cursed, besides our current verbal sparring session."

"I believe your connection to the otherworld used to be much stronger."

"Otherworld? Not just the Faerie Courts?"

"Not just the Courts." He tilted his head in consideration. "You used to be a Dreamer."

"I heard that capital there. What's a Dreamer?"

"The details vary, but the essence is that you can shape reality by your dreams."

I blinked slowly at him. "Let's pretend for a moment that I believe that. How come no one noticed before I was sixteen?"

"Didn't I?"

I chewed that over, running through memories of angsty, petulant teenage times in the Labyrinth, trying to see them from this new angle.

Jareth pressed on. "Why do you think you took the heart of me at fifteen? I could see the magic bindings wrapped around you, and they latched onto me like honeysuckle."

I gave up on my teenage Labyrinth run and shifted my rapid-fire mulling to more recent events. "Alright, let's again pretend I'm buying this...how come no one else noticed at the Winter Court parlay? A stifled Dreamer in their midst?"

"They were looking on the surface. Your Summer power was a very helpful cover."

I eyed him. "You ever read the Dune series?"

He smiled, quoting, "'Observe the plans within plans within plans.'"

"I have to say, you're a damned sight prettier than Baron Harkonnen."

"If you can believe it, Giedi Prime's an even worse pit than my throne room after the goblins have had their annual Chicken Games. Hard on the skin, that climate."

"Uh...isn't Giedi Prime fictional?"

And there was the devil smile again. "Is it?"

"I told you that tag question thing was irritating as hell, right?"

"You may have mentioned."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "So I was an unstifled Dreamer before age sixteen? I don't remember reality bending to my dreams all that much." I felt a stab of unresolved resentment, which bled into my voice before I could stop it. "My mother, for example, neglected to take me away to live the glamorous life with her." I swallowed, regaining control of my voice. That was an old pain, better left alone. "There was also a distinct lack of requited feelings from my childhood crushes."

Jareth's laughter sparked between us like small stars. "I'd blame the latter on an appalling lack of taste on said crushes' part. And the fact that Dreamer powers, like many others, develop over time, usually hitting maturation in the early twenties."

"Huh, just like other advanced cognitive abilities."

"Quite."

"Okay, so I'm a maturing little Dreamer rosebud when I run the Labyrinth, and I take your heart because you've got a thing for Dreamerkind?"

"Something like that."

I arched an eyebrow. "Right. So then my mother is the agent of my curse via flax splinter and these Dreamer powers get put to sleep?"

"Indeed. You've been searching for them ever since, reaching as much as your subconscious would allow for that otherness that was once yours."

"So that's why I got an advanced degree in mythology? If only I'd had that nifty little answer for my parents. 'It's ok, Dad, Karen. It's just an unconscious expression of the gaping hole in me Mom left because we all tried to forget about her.'" I snorted. Well, _actually..._ she'd been drinking before that terrible car accident and there _was_ definitely some bitterness. She missed my hero worship of her after my Labyrinth run.

"At least your Dreamer powers weren't snuffed out. That _never_ goes well."

"There's a story there."

"There is."

"You going to tell it to me one day, your Grace?"

"Another time, my Lady. For now, it's enough that your Dreamer powers are still there, if latent."

"Riiiight. And why would that be exactly? What good fairy mitigated my curse so that these powers didn't die off completely?"

He tilted his head, his eyes positively dancing with amusement.

"What? Oh, come _on_. _You're_ the good fairy? What, your heart that I took saved me from certain death?"

"Is it so difficult to believe?"

I sighed. "Just a little convenient, I suppose." I paused. "Besides, I would have thought you were playing the prince's role with the whole waking me up aspect."

He leaned in, his presence filling the room in a sultry rush. "I'm multi-talented."

I drew back as if a venomous snake was about to bite me ( _thanks, subconscious, a little late to the party here_ ). "I thought these weren't going to be _those_ kind of lessons."

"And I believe at the time I asked you how you knew that for sure. Don't you want to know what you could be?"

"Of course I do." I ignored the surge of special-snowflake-validation that was threatening more than my good sense. "Small problem: You're not my one true love."

His devil smile was back. "That's often simply placeholder code."

"For what?"

"Unbinding via intimate relations."

I tried valiantly to keep my face neutral. I think I managed a good glare.

He shrugged, unfazed. "You asked."

I closed my eyes briefly, then shook my head. "I did."

"But don't let it trouble you. To be honest, I suspect Sleeping Brynhild is most apt for our resolution, given previous events."

Interesting. "So you, as the rescuing Prince, should be fording a ring of flames." I drummed my fingers slowly against my cup. "I suppose that whole channeling of Summer firepower could count."

He blinked slowly at me. "You know of Sleeping Brynhild?"

I smiled. "I took a class in Germanic mythology."

He inclined his head. "You never fail to pleasantly surprise me, my Lady. You'd have made a fine Valkyrie back in the day."

"Oh?"

"The underpinnings of your occasional heroine streak are quite similar to those of shield maidens of highest quality."

"Thanks. I think. So if Sleeping Brynhild is most apt, how apt are we talking? Did I piss off Odin and get cursed to mortal-hood, too?"

"Mmm...well, did you?"

"Not that I know of."

He shrugged. "Storytellers often hit upon partial truths."

I eyed him. "You didn't say it wasn't true."

"I didn't, did I?"

I closed my eyes, controlling my urge to strangle him. "So are you going to wake me up by removing my helmet and cutting off my chainmail armor? Is there a proposal with the magic ring Andvaranaut? Is there a dragon Fafnir you've slain that I should know about?"

"What do you think?"

"You're the informed one of the two of us."

He steepled his fingers. "Which is why I'm asking you."

"That makes no sense."

His eyes grew distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Twin spirals of magic built from his eyes, spreading in strange fractal curves. "It will."

"Your grace?" Nothing but those eerie sparkling curves and utter stillness from him. "Jareth?" My voice broke his reverie, shattered the spirals. Note to self: seeing and breaking spells was starting to become a thing with me. Useful.

He shook his head as if waking up. "Mmm?"

"You were somewhere else just now. Where was it?"

He blinked hard. "Ah. Apparently, the Falchion's mantle comes with an interesting ability to see down different time paths."

My eyebrows raised. "Time paths?"

"Possible What-Might-Bes. Useful, but distracting. I admit, I'm surprised my mother succumbed to our little plot, given this kind of foreknowledge."

My eyebrows raised higher. "Someone sabotaged her?"

"Perhaps. And how interesting if so. I wonder who."

"I'd ask if your mother had enemies, but I'm pretty sure there were too many to count. Better question: who benefits from having you as the Falchion?"

"And who benefits from you being the Summer Champion bound to the Falchion?"

I shrugged. "You know Court intrigues better than I do. We need more information." I sighed and took another sip of tea. "Tell me more about the Sleeping Brynhild parallels. Is there a real ring you need to make a proposal with? Any chainmail and helmet for me are definitely metaphorical."

His eyes looked distant again, those twin spirals building, then falling. "I believe there's a real ring."

"Is it called Andvaranaut? And is it cursed six ways from Sunday?"

That got a smile from him. "Names change."

"But curses just sit there festering through the eons?"

"Something like that."

"Great. Is there a dragon involved?"

"Could be."

I put my head briefly in my hands, muttering, "Somehow there's _always_ still a dragon. That part's never bloody metaphorical." I blinked suddenly as an idea popped to mind. "Wait, are there any ranks in the Summer Court called the Dragon?"

"Not exactly _in_ the Summer court."

I gave him my best stern librarian stare. To his credit, he didn't smirk.

He took another sip of his tea. "The base of Summer is bound in the Dragon."

"Is there a Winter equivalent?"

"Not as such. Winter prefers to diversify its power base."

"Seems sensible. I'm surprised Summer relies on one base like that. Easy point of failure."

"Executive decisions made for expediency have their downsides. Suffice it to say that the Dragon's defenses are, shall we say, formidable."

"Right. So...the Dragon has the cursed ring. That's probably not doing wonders for the Summer Court."

"True. I expect Summer's emissary will probably want to talk to you about that. It's the sort of thing Champions are asked to handle."

I sighed. "Of course it is. Because clearly, _that's_ what was missing from my life. So how long has the Dragon had the cursed ring?"

"As long as there's been a Dragon."

My eyebrows raised. They were getting quite the workout in this conversation.

"The Dragon used to be the Summer Champion."

"Oh, fuck me, _what_? So the ring cursed the Summer Champion into the Dragon? Just tell me its name isn't Fafnir. Please."

"He likes to go by Filip these days. Or so I hear. Says it sounds more modern on correspondence."

"He's sentient enough to have naming preferences on his correspondence?"

"Oh, quite. His shape's changed, not his self."

"I see. Not really. But never mind. So we need to get the ring from him basically?"

"Well, the Summer Champion does, I suspect."

"And the Summer Champion can draft the Winter Falchion with her considerable charms?"

"What might those be?"

"Chief among them is the promise not to throttle you in the next, oh, thirty minutes for dropping all this on my head."

"However could I resist such luscious temptations?"

"Oy!" piped a small voice just over my shoulder. "If you two are done flirting, I've got some news from the Summer Court."

* * *

Jareth and I swiveled to look at the interloper. About six inches tall, humanoid, and made out of what appeared to be dancing flames.

Jareth recovered first. "You must be the Summer Emissary."

The flame bobbed what looked like a bow. "Calidus, my Lady, your Grace. Call me Cal."

I blinked and finally recovered control of my voice. " _Hot_ in Latin?"

"You betcha, sweet cakes. Also fiery and impetuous."

I blinked again. "I...see."

"Flame sprite temperaments are fairly consistent," offered Jareth.

I resisted the urge to massage my temples. "Lovely. So, Cal, what's the scoop from Summer?"

"Well, it's like this…"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Cal had gotten the story out in between fortifying sips of something from a sprite-sized metal thermos he'd brought. There was indeed the Dragon Filip (formerly Fafnir), a cursed magic ring that needed liberating by the current Summer Champion, and a rather pressing timeline. Also, just for added fun, Filip was located inside the supermassive black hole at the heart of our galaxy.

I had given up trying to hide my growing headache and was massaging my temples. Jareth, in a cheerfully sympathetic mood, had offered his services to my tightening shoulders and I, in a sinking fit of desperation at my official plight as being laid out by Cal (complete with the exact dire consequences if I failed), had let Jareth have his way. I had to give it to him - the man had skills.

I sighed. "Lurking inside a black hole? I mean, really, who _does_ that?"

"Filip," said Cal. "Haven't you been listening?"

I choked down a growl.

Jareth's voice floated down into my ear as he worked a line between my shoulder blades. "Flame sprites are known, among other things, for their literal interpretations."

I closed my eyes. "So, to sum up: I have a ridiculously dangerous quest to the Dragon's lair in a place where current laws of physics don't apply, and imminent doom befalls Summer's foundation (and by connection, Winter and the whole mortal realm) if I don't hop to it chop-chop."

"We," said Cal and Jareth together.

"What?"

" _We_ have a quest," said Jareth, eyeing Cal who was in turn giving Jareth the stinkeye. "I'm bound to you. And Winter suffers if this doesn't work out, so I have a vested interest as the Falchion."

"Whatever, your Grace," sniffed Cal. "I'm coming because it's part of my mission."

I blinked at him. "It is? Summer sure asks a lot of their Emissaries."

"We screwed up with the last Champion. We don't want to have a repeat performance."

"Good to know," I said. "Alright, so _we_ have a crazy-ass time-sensitive quest." I'd never admit it out loud, but not having to do this alone made me feel a hell of a lot better. Even if my trusty companions were of unknown trusty quality. "So, where do we start?"

"Well," said Jareth, "we should likely plan how to get to Filip's lair."

"Right." I pursed my lips. "How does one typically get to Filip's lair?"

"One typically doesn't."

"Okay, how does one atypically get to Filip's lair?"

Jareth glanced at Cal. "I imagine Summer's Emissary would know more about that."

Cal shrugged. "I get his correspondence, but it comes through intermediaries."

"Like who?" I asked.

Cal and Jareth exchanged another glance. This certainly couldn't bode well.

"You really think we should see him?" asked Cal. "He's...whimsical."

"He also has very good advice if you know how to listen, and I think we could use some good advice." Jareth paused. "He additionally has a remarkably fine singing voice."

I'd had enough. " _Who_?"

Cal's shiver looked like a flicker if you weren't paying attention. "The Blackstar."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That was Blackstar with a capital B and all one word, wasn't it?"

Jareth's eyes were doing that spiral magic dance of theirs again. "Quite. And I think we really do need to see him. He's our best shot at this."

I turned to Cal. "Why don't you like him?"

Cal's voice was soft. "It's cold where he is, no matter what your senses tell you."

I felt my brow furrowing despite my best efforts. "And that's bad for you as a flame sprite?"

"Bad for Summer folk in general, lady." He cast an envious glance at Jareth.

I tilted my head. "Why is a Winter Court member like the Blackstar a liaison to the base of Summer's power?"

Jareth's voice held a strange longing. "No one said he was Winter's."

"So what, he's a free agent who happens to give our Summer Emissary the willies and gets on with Winter's Falchion?"

Jareth smiled. "I don't think he and my mother much cared for each other. But he and I have done a duet or two."

Cal and I both swiveled to face him, but I was the one who spoke. "You don't literally sing with him, do you?"

"He really does have quite a fine voice."

I closed my eyes briefly at that blatant dodge. "You're really not going to tell me anymore about him right now, are you?"

The twin spirals of magic unfurled from Jareth's eyes for a moment before snapping back. "It's best if I don't."

I harumphed to myself. This seeing through time thing was starting to get really irritating. "Okay, Mr. I-Can-See-Through-Time-Paths-And-You-Can't." I paused. "Yet."

That brought Jareth's attention back to me. "Yet?"

"A Champion's gotta have dreams."

His laughter filled my chest like butterflies and made other things clench something fierce. He traced a finger along my shoulder. "I think you'll like him, even if Cal doesn't."

"Oy, you two," grumbled Cal, clearly put out at our impending Blackstar visit, "get a _room_."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Blackstar is in homage to Bowie's last album._


	2. Black as Stars

**Part Two: Black as Stars**

 _In which Sarah gets some very good advice and several useful gifts._

 _Author's note: The Blackstar and his abode are very much inspired by David Bowie's "Blackstar" music video._

* * *

Fun fact: Using a tesseract for interstellar travel isn't nearly as much fun as it sounded when I read about it in Madeleine L'Engle's _A Wrinkle In Time_ as a young girl. _Dear nine-year-old me: While the instantaneous bending of time and space sounds great, the vertigo just isn't worth it, I promise you._ Though I suppose it was good preparation for whatever mangling of the laws of physics was going to happen in Filip's lair.

It was gratifying to see that Cal looked a little green too, at least. Of course, maybe that was just from the glow coming from the Blackstar's house, which was decidedly verdant. It contrasted rather starkly with the desert dusty surroundings of sand and stone.

At least the air was breathable in this place, whatever planet it was. Why that should be was actually unclear - there didn't appear to be much in the way of atmosphere. And come to think of it, the air tasted strange. Like cardamom, or perhaps cloves.

Jareth hummed to himself as he knocked on the Blackstar's door.

"Cal?" I whispered.

"Lady?"

"Why can we breathe here?"

"Adaptive tessering. The Blackstar allows that kind of gate for convenience, so guests don't have to expend their own energy to adjust. Most hosts don't bother with it."

"Why not?"

"Too much of a hassle to maintain. Sucks down magical power like you wouldn't believe."

"So the Blackstar's powerful enough not to care?"

"Actually," came a voice rolling like velvet from the doorway, "I prefer to think of it as maintaining standards of hospitality. It's the little things that often make an impression, don't you think?"

* * *

I stared at the figure hovering in the threshold for a long moment. He was slender and lithe as a lute string, with a trembling edge to his movements that suggested barely contained energy. A blindfold wrapped around his head, with pinprick holes for the eyes, and iridescence poured from each hole, one blue and one golden. It offset the plume of silver-bright hair and not-quite-lace cuffs peeking out past the edge of his fitted jacket sleeves quite nicely.

Also, he was the spitting image of David Bowie. It was so unexpected that I couldn't help myself. "Pardon me, uh…" I flailed around for the appropriate title.

"'Sir' will do."

"Sir. Right, okay, sir, why do you look like David Bowie?"

That seemed to utterly delight him. "How do you know David Bowie doesn't simply look like me, dear Lady?"

Well, ask a stupid question, as they say. And then it hit me. "I'm the only one who sees you like that, aren't I?" I glanced at Cal.

Cal just shivered again, seeming to twitch and flicker more with every passing moment. I probably _really_ didn't want to know what Cal was seeing.

I looked back at the Blackstar and then at Jareth. "He's got your eyes."

Jareth smiled fondly at the Blackstar. "Showoff."

The Blackstar smiled, and it was so intense, it burned like liquid nitrogen. "Won't you all come in?"

Cal and I exchanged a heartfelt _well-shit_ look as we trooped in behind Jareth.

* * *

It was all very polite really, as we sat at the Blackstar's table, drinking a truly excellent mint tea. Or at least, what appeared to me to be mint tea. All I knew was that it had that perfect arc of frost in the aftertaste, and it hadn't poisoned me, Cal, or Jareth yet.

"So, my friend," said the Blackstar to Jareth, "it's good to see you. And with such lovely companions." His blue pinprick eye seemed to skewer me in place, his gold one showering Cal with razor attention. "Have you come for a song?"

"For a song?" Jareth hummed to himself, a half smile twinkling at the corner of his mouth. "In payment, in search of, or just for old times' sake?"

"All three is best." The Blackstar's gaze turned fully to Jareth.

Jareth seemed to absorb it like a flower with sunlight and tilted his head, as if getting a particularly good neck rub. "Would you consider a trio or quartet?"

The golden pinprick eye fell squarely on Cal again, who did his best to vanish into the lacquered table's surface. "A trio, perhaps." The Blackstar's blue eye landed on me. "Assuming the lady sings."

Jareth nodded. "She does."

I nudged Jareth. "You didn't ask if I could, your Grace."

Jareth smiled. "I have great faith in you, my Lady."

My jaw clenched involuntarily. Never bored, that's me. The Blackstar began before I could protest further.

* * *

It was a haunting sort of melody, with sounds that might have been words scuffing and scraping around the rise and fall of breath and voice. It pulled something from inside me just to listen, making me shake with the same trembling I saw running rampant along the Blackstar's limbs. I managed to catch a glimpse of Jareth, and saw that the same eerie energy was sparking through him. Alrighty then. Good to know we were in this together.

At some indefinable point, I suddenly realized Jareth and I were harmonizing on the sighing "ahs" that trailed through the Blackstar's song like stardust. I didn't even know how long I'd been doing it. I could feel Cal shrinking further away from us, at the edge of my awareness.

The not-words clicked into place between one inhalation and the next, and whole phrases shimmered into my thoughts, bursting like soap bubbles. _In the centre of it all...your eyes...spirit rose a metre and stepped aside...somebody else took his place, and bravely cried I'm a blackstar...how many times does an angel fall?...I see right, so wide...I want eagles in my daydreams, diamonds in my eyes...at the centre of it all, your eyes..._

As the song closed on harmonizing minor exhalations, I felt blue and gold light tickling across my cheeks.

"So, dear Lady," said the Blackstar, "would you like diamonds in your eyes?"

I looked at Jareth, who remained unhelpfully blank. Cal had shrunk off the edge of the table and was presumably taking cover somewhere behind us.

I swallowed. "What does that mean exactly, sir?"

"My gift to you for your coming adventures." His smile was wide, with an anticipatory gleam. "If you want it. I can open wide your sight."

Ooooh, I knew the stories on how _that_ kind of gift went. "Consequences would include declining sanity and vulnerability to things that can see me because I can see them?"

Laughter fell from the Blackstar's mouth like a silver waterfall of coins. "That, and a much higher chance of saving the universe. Among other things."

"Somehow, there's always 'other things'."

He made a clucking noise. "Do you wish it, Dreamer girl? Do you miss it enough to welcome it back?"

Of course I did. His siren song had woken something inside me, and it was buzzing and flitting and pressing against the cage of my bones. It was _want_ and _need_ arcing from capillary to ribosome to dendrite. Sneaky, sneaky Blackstar.

Somehow I knew this was really about that flax inside me, broken into cellular splinters and absorbed at a level so deep, it was part of myself. This was how it could come out of me, how it could release me. If I wanted it. All I had to do was say yes.

I swallowed and held out my right hand with its constellations of tiny reconstructive scars. "Was there ever really a question?"

I felt Jareth's hand land gently on top of mine, our Winter-Summer-whatever bond flaring with an audible crack.

"I'll wait outside if it's all the same to you," said Cal's voice from behind us, dwindling as he put as much distance between himself and whatever was about to happen here.

The Blackstar's smile was light itself.

* * *

Unbinding via intimate relations, indeed. Silly me, for thinking I had known what that meant. Sex may connect body to body and heart to heart, but that's at least a layer up from direct mind-to-mind connection. There were two important things I learned.

One: Jareth's mind appeared like a city of glass, with thoughts formed by unearthly winds sighing through the delicate apertures, more than one of which were shaped just like me. And I do mean that literally. Little holes cut into the vibrating structure, the shape of my eyes and my lips and the three bones of my inner ear, among many, many others. Creepy much? You betcha. I've never wanted to repress knowledge from my university human anatomy course so much in my life. I didn't even want to contemplate what my thoughts looked like to him. There be dragons.

Two: I was damned glad the Blackstar mostly shielded his thoughts from us during the process. The bits that leaked through were like looking into the maw of a maelstrom. Holy shiznit. Inexorable force doesn't even begin to cover it. Jareth and I were like grains of sand being rolled by a tsunami. Mostly blissfully unaware until we suddenly weren't.

All in all, it wasn't exactly pleasant. Of course, it wasn't exactly unpleasant either. It didn't really _hurt_ , for instance. But I immediately missed the easy illusion of the Blackstar as a David Bowie oracle. The clearer version of him...well, there's a reason Cal had been trembling involuntarily. It's overwhelming to be in the presence of a god emeritus when you can see him for what he is. No matter how nice he's currently being to you and how good his singing voice is. Or the quality of his illusory mint tea.

"Can I switch it off?" I didn't even know who I was asking really, as I stared down at my hands.

"I don't know," said the Blackstar. "Can you?"

Not _this_ again. "You and Jareth share that same terrible habit, sir," I murmured, searching inside myself for...something.

"Which is, dear Lady?"

"These little inscrutable tag questions."

I felt the thrum of Jareth's amusement in my chest without even looking up.

"Well," replied the Blackstar, "they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And terribly useful in other ways."

That hint was hard to miss. Terribly useful, huh? Alrighty then. I wanted a way to switch this Dreamer sight off, so how about a direct approach...I imagined a light switch tethered to my sight and gave it a good, solid flick.

With a silent snap, we were back to a very civilized sitting room with mint tea in front of us and the Blackstar in David Bowie form. He smiled. "See? You didn't need me to tell you that."

"Uh huh." I took a fortifying sip of illusory tea. "So what _do_ I need you to tell me, sir?"

"So glad you asked. If I might direct your Sight out the window there?"

Jareth and I both turned, and I flicked my Sight switch back on. There was a crackling whirlpool bleeding over the entire sky with a rather unfriendly I-Will-Consume-All-And-Sundry look about it.

"Filip's lair is rather close, you see. Makes it easy to receive his correspondence."

I flicked off my Sight and sucked in some air. "Do I even want to know how the gravitational pull of the black hole isn't ripping this planet to shreds?"

The Blackstar's silvery laughter trickled over my skin. "As I said, it's the little things that make an impression on guests."

I pressed two fingers to my forehead as my temples began a telltale throbbing. "Right, okay. Back to business. So what can you tell us about Filip, sir?"

"Perhaps the most useful is that Filip would dearly love to give the cursed ring up. It's rather a strain for him, you see."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is it 'rather a strain' in the same way that withholding the gravitational pull of a supermassive black hole is one of those 'little things' you enjoy doing for your guests?"

Both the Blackstar and Jareth grinned the same damned Cheshire Cat grin. Unbelievable.

"It's as if she knows you," observed Jareth.

"Okay, then," I said, trying not to overtly massage my forehead. "Epic fetters from the cursed ring. So how can Filip possibly offload the thing?"

"As with many things," said the Blackstar, "the trick is saying the right words at the right time." The Cheshire Cat grin was back.

"Uh huh. And I don't suppose you happen to know the exact form of these magic words, sir?"

"I'm sure they'll come to you when the time comes for bravely crying."

I blinked at him. Then the not-words of his song tickled the back of my mind. _Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried I'm a blackstar…_ My eyes widened. "So I just tell him I'm a-"

"Shhh!" The Blackstar's finger was against my lips. "Not yet, dear Lady."

I swallowed as he withdrew his finger, a sort of fizzing like pins and needles dancing across my lips. I had a feeling I'd just gotten another little gift. "But that's it?"

The Blackstar's lips twitched in suppressed laughter as he shrugged a shoulder. "That's it."

I tapped my fingers against my mouth in thought, and some of that fizzing spread to my fingertips. I tried to ignore it, since there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it right now anyway. "So then the real trick is what to do with the curse part. I'm not keen on it landing on me."

"Mmm," agreed the Blackstar. "I think I might have something useful in that respect." With a practiced magician's flourish, a book appeared in his hand. It was a black leatherbound thing with a five-pointed star cut out of its cover, deep into the meat of the pages.

I eyed it. "Emblematic much? Maybe you should sign it: 'Property of the Blackstar. Nyah, Nyah, Nyah.'"

The Blackstar's laughter flowed over me like an ocean wave, gently pulling and pushing. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Altruism has its limits. Why don't you take a good look?"

With a wary breath, I flicked my Sight back on.

Goodness. And I thought the crackling whirlpool outside looked hungry. I guess it takes a lot of magical juice to keep the "little things" nice for your visitors.

I slammed my sight off in a hurry. "Okay, so the curse goes in there. How do we direct it?"

"I had an idea about that actually," said Jareth. His eyes were just finishing their spiral dance of might-be-could-be knowledge. "It's a three-man operation, however."

* * *

"Hey, Cal," I called out. "I think we're about ready to head out."

Cal appeared at my elbow, wiping his forehead. "Thank Summer for that."

"And we've got a plan."

"You'd better, after all this. Can we vamoose now?"

"The plan involves you."

"Sure, sure, as long as we can get out of here." There was a sudden, awkward pause as he caught the Blackstar's eye and hastily looked down. "No offense intended, sir."

I felt the Blackstar's smile like a sunrise against my skin, and I wasn't even looking at him.

"None taken, little one," said the Blackstar. "But you, dear Lady...you really must come visit more often with Jareth here. There are some fine songs I could teach you."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." I patted the book/sucking-hole-of-godly-power in my satchel. "Maybe when we get back from Filip's?"

"I'll count on it. Now, off you go and best of luck. I'm sure Jareth knows the way from here."


	3. Scaling the Wall

**Part Three: Scaling the Wall**

 _In which Filip the Dragon is encountered and things are resolved, more or less._

* * *

Both of Cal's eyebrows were raised as he looked from me to Jareth and back again. " _That's_ your plan?"

I shrugged. "Do you have a better one?"

Cal made a face. "The curse could land on us all. Or worse."

I shrugged again. "End of the universe as we know it sounds worse to me. Which is what will happen if we don't try."

Cal stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head. "This is what we get for choosing an occasional heroine for our Champion."

"Hey, I chose _you_ guys." I glanced at Jareth. "If unknowingly."

Jareth's smile clearly said _I'm enjoying a nice private joke and you will never ever get me to tell you about it_.

Aw, hell. Plans within plans within plans.

"Whatever," I amended. "This is what we've got, Cal. We need you." I took a slow breath. I wasn't kidding. This thing wouldn't work without him. "Are you coming?

Cal reached to his flask and took a very hearty swig. "'Course I am."

"Good, then," said Jareth. "Are we all ready?"

I nodded.

Cal sighed. "Then let's get moving."

* * *

Between one eyeblink and the next, we were there.

I use the term "there" lightly.

I flicked on my Dreamer sight in the hopes that things would make more sense and/or the nearly incapacitating vertigo would lessen.

Nope.

I admit, I wasn't expecting an actual dragon, but this was something else. Wings and scales and eyes in a swirling array without a specific form - it was endless, filling my field of vision in every direction. I staggered, trying to orient myself. It was a losing proposition. I mean, when the laws of physics go out the window, you can pretty much kiss your equilibrium goodbye, and forget about the adaptive tessering after-effects.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" I finally managed.

"Nope," said Cal. "Thankfully."

My vision did another flip-flop. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"I wish you wouldn't," came a voice like the echoes of sunset. "You wouldn't believe how smells carry in this void."

I shut my eyes. "Filip?"

"I think I may be able to help. I so rarely get visitors these days, you see. If you would give me just a moment...there we are. Open your eyes, if you please."

I opened them, and there, at the center of it all, were two simple human eyes like diamonds that I fell right into.

* * *

I blinked and found myself sitting at a cafe table with a single, solitary candle on it. A man was sitting serenely across from me, with the velvety, glittering black of the galaxy providing the backdrop. Jareth and Cal were nowhere to be found. I blinked again, trying to orient myself, and made an educated guess. "Filip?"

The man smiled. His features were sharp, almost delicate. Tolkien buffs would have loved him as a Teleri elf, with that silver hair and those grey eyes. I saw the sigil on his wrist though, glowing with ghostly fire. An angel, and decidedly not fallen. My goodness. However _did_ he get himself into this particular pickle?

Humming, his lips curved up in a bittersweet smile. "How many times does an angel fall?"

I recognized the Blackstar's tune, which caused a sympathetic tingling to run across my lips and a cozy familiarity to stretch through my consciousness. "At least once, it seems. If you count being cursed to Dragonhood as one."

"At least once," he agreed.

"My Lor-...actually, can I just call you Filip?"

"If I can call you Sarah. Princess suits you more than Lady, anyway."

I stared at him for a moment. "I'd ask how you know my name and its original meaning, but you'd probably just smile and look pleased with yourself."

His smile was positively luminous. "That's more the Blackstar's mode, actually. I'd be far more likely to say that the Blackstar just told me you were en route."

"Oh. That's remarkably…" I trailed off, trying to come up with some non-offensive way to finish that thought.

"Straightforward?"

I shrugged. "In my experience, directness isn't a thing you guys generally do."

He clasped his hands together. "Drastic times, drastic measures, as they say."

"Right. Speaking of…Filip, I have to ask, why do you guys keep getting mixed up with the Courts, anyway?"

"It's hard to break bad habits, Sarah." He lingered over my name, as if he enjoyed the taste of it.

An involuntary shiver shimmered up my spine. I suppose I'd started it by using his name, though. Enough of that then. "Forgive me for being blunt, but sticking your angelic noses into Faerie business is a _bad habit_? Some people just smoke or gamble, you know."

His laughter brushed over me like feathers. "I'd say it's very much like gambling. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you don't. As you can see from my current predicament."

"Right. Speaking of, isn't the Champion of whichever Court supposed to be human?"

His expression held three parts rue and one part secrets as he looked at me. "'Supposed to' are the operative words, at least upon initial acceptance of the Champion position. However, I offered, Summer accepted, and the universe decided to let us all know exactly what it thought about that."

"Some rules shouldn't be bent."

"No."

"Your original name isn't Fafnir, I take it."

"Phanuel." The name sighed out of him with the echoes of forever and a day.

Whoa. Phanuel was the angelic arch-rival of Belial, Jareth's dad. Belial had had some serious Winter Court influence before we'd stomped all over it via Jareth's abrupt takeover of the Winter Falchion position. "So, uh, you and Belial have a thing."

"We do."

"Does he know you're the Dragon of Summer?"

Phanuel's laughter was soft as a breeze. "Who do you think gave me the ring? The universe has its agents of retribution."

I didn't know what to say for several moments. This was epic-level stuff, complete with poetic justice. You fucked with it at your own peril. Of course, we were in official Dire Doom straits with the current situation, so now was the time for fucking with it, if ever there was. I just had to figure out a way to maneuver the conversation to where it needed to be. "You seem remarkably calm about it all."

"Would you rather I slather and snarl? I'm sure I could dredge up a good roar. The curse makes those easy to fall back on."

He sounded so forlorn, I wanted to hug him. You know the world's gone wonky when you have to restrain yourself from comforting immensely powerful supernatural beings who could crush you like a bug. I settled for touching his hand gently. "What's it like?"

His fingers curled around mine, cool as a foggy morning. "Do you really want to know? Isn't it easier to say your right words and be on your way?"

I kept my fingers in his. "A burden shared is a burden lightened, so they say."

Something kindled in his eyes. "I do hope you're right." A mask lifted from him like water vapor floating away and then I saw him.

His unspeakable beauty was still hinted at, but his skin had melted away unevenly, leaving horrific gaps where his nose had been, where parts of his cheek had been. What was left of his lips barely covered his teeth, with bone showing through in shocking patchwork. One lovely grey eye had burst and shriveled, while the other had a cataract across it. The silver hair was in tattered, wispy shreds.

And that was just his head. I couldn't bear to look at the rest of him.

I squeezed his fingers, and felt their hollowness like dry twigs. I kept my eyes on his. "Filip, I'm so, so sorry."

"The outside reflects the inside, I'm afraid, in that my sanity rather resembles my face - a splendid facade over ruin."

I swallowed hard. An insane angel at the root of the Summer Court was officially Not A Good Thing. I'd known a soon-to-be-raving Dragon was the situation after Cal first told me about it, but to see it in person was a very different, unexpectedly painful thing. Also, angels had a power reserve like no one's business. Stark raving plus obscenely powerful equals Bad For Everyone. "The curse did this?"

"Its hunger is slightly greater than my recuperative powers. And it's had a long time to work."

I was suddenly very, very angry, and my lips were tingling with things unspoken. "Why hasn't anyone come to help you in all this time? How could they leave you to _rot_ like this?"

"Ah, how I've missed the taste of righteous anger." His gentle smile was horrifying in that face. "But these things take time, Sarah."

"Yeah, well, time's up." My lips were positively pulsing. "Filip, I've got something to tell you."

A burning hunger and ancient weariness fluttered across his ruined features, with the smallest underfeathers of hope. When they say hope springs eternal, they're not kidding. "Call me Phanuel," he murmured.

"Well, Phanuel," I whispered, energy buzzing like a swarm of hornets behind my teeth, "I'm a blackstar."

And then everything went straight to hell.

Just like we planned.

* * *

Phanuel was torn from me, the illusory cafe he'd conjured for us shredded into nothing. I scrambled haphazardly in darkness and watched him caught up in a giant claw of not-darkness, rising above me. A whirl of something like scales was stripping from him layer by layer, forming a maelstrom with great big nasty teeth and a bite that could snap reality in half. And it was headed straight for me.

Sweet god, I hoped this worked. Especially since I didn't know where the hell Jareth and Cal were.

At that thought, I suddenly felt Jareth like a beacon, a mental breeze floating through his city of glass to me. Thank God for those intimate relations.

 _Jareth?_

 _Ah, there you are. It appears that we're right on schedule with the Dragon._

 _Yeah. Is Cal there?_

 _We're both ready._

 _Good. Because this beastie is coming._

I felt the net form between us, anchored by Summer flame from Cal, Winter frost from Jareth, and whatever amalgam I currently was. At its heart was the Blackstar's gift to me, that image icon of the book with an endless star carved out of its cover, infinite depths waiting and hungry.

 _Come to mama, little dragon._

It came.

* * *

Flailing and roaring against the filigree net, it came. It tried fire and ice and entropy to break the threads, but it couldn't manage it, instead rolling itself in more and more strands that pulled at my core. They unspooled in finer and finer gossamer pieces with the tensile strength of spider silk, like a great iridescent web.

I thought all of me might be spun out into that web, and I felt a terrifying hollowness building inside me.

It was officially the worst feeling I've ever experienced and I've been through, as they say, some serious shit.

How much of me was there? More importantly, was it enough? I felt like I might blow away on a breath.

 _God, Jareth, Cal, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry…_

 _Sarah._ Jareth's voice anchored me for a moment. _Sarah, listen to me._

I tried to focus.

 _You will not give up, Sarah._

 _I...can't._

 _Well, you'll bloody well find a way._

 _Why?_

 _Because that's what you do, Sarah mine. That's what you do._

I felt a spark like a star burst inside me. He was right. That's what I fucking _did._ And I would damned well do it now, even if there was precious little of me currently left to spool out into this web.

I felt Jareth's heart like an offering.

 _Do what you must, my Lady._

I took his heart and began to unspool bits of it into the web with the last strands of myself, twining and shining and sweet as honeyed promises.

After subjective forever, the curse was cocooned and trussed up, unable to even twitch. I was still there, at the center of it all with my heartbond to Jareth, and so was the Blackstar's book.

The Blackstar's book, it turned out, was very hungry indeed. But it was quite happy to leave us the web.

* * *

When it was over, there were brilliant feathers stretching everywhere into the void, branching and growing and deepening with light.

"Phanuel?" I called.

"Dearest Sarah," he whispered back, suddenly right beside me in full Teleri splendor.

I could actually feel Jareth bristle imperceptibly at Phanuel. Huh. I smiled. "You seem better already."

Phanuel's laughter was like hot chocolate on a cold winter night. "I can't tell you how good it feels to have that thing off me."

I searched his grey eyes, sensing the illusion of them, the mask back firmly in place. "You still need to recover, though."

"Yes. But the trajectory, as they say, is in the right direction."

This is why I'm an occasional heroine, moments like this. I felt satisfaction curl through me like a jungle cat thoroughly pleased with itself. "I'm very glad to hear that. So, what now?"

Phanuel smiled back, one of those bittersweet ones he did so well. "I think it's best that I stay here." He nodded to Cal. "Give my regards to the Queen, if you would." He turned to Jareth. "And to Belial, your Grace."

Jareth's mouth tightened. "My father and I aren't really on speaking terms at the moment, my Lord."

"I knew I liked you," replied Phanuel, something twinkling in his eyes. "Then perhaps you'd give those regards to the Blackstar?"

"That," said Jareth, "I'd be delighted to do."

"Good, then. That's settled." Phanuel's eyes brightened as he slipped something off his index finger and held it out to me. "I believe, Sarah," he rolled my name through his teeth with obvious delight, "that this now belongs to you."

It was just a dull silver-ish ring, no etchings on the band, nothing. It couldn't have been plainer if it tried. I shook my head as I pocketed it.

"What?" asked Phanuel.

I shrugged. "It's nothing...just, you know, you'd think the anchor for an epic curse like that would have a little more style."

Everyone but me thought that was just _hilarious_ apparently. Like, doubling-over-in-laughter hilarious.

Clearly, there was way more going on with this ring. I made a mental note to throttle someone (possibly several someones, possibly those someones in my adventuring party with trusted companion status) at some future point about it.

We tessered out after Jareth and Cal were finally able to stand upright. I think Phanuel may have strained something laughing. I'd say it served him right, but the guy deserved a little mirth after epic suffering and who was I to judge after all?

* * *

Back at the Blackstar's abode, I found myself sipping high quality illusory mint tea for the second time in less than twenty four hours. I'd really have to see if I could track down something like this stuff back home.

"So, dear Lady," said the Blackstar, "I take it things went well."

I smiled. "Apparently, sir."

"And Phanuel sends his regards," said Jareth.

"That's good. I always liked him," said the Blackstar. "So polite. Politeness often makes the world go round, you know."

"Speaking of," I said, "we've brought you a host gift this time."

"Did you now?"

I dug out the just-a-book-nothing-to-see-here from my satchel and placed it on the table between us, being very careful to keep my Sight off. "To be fair, you gave it to us first. But we've added to it since."

The Blackstar's eyes lit up with merriment. "How exquisite. Much appreciated, dear Lady. I'm so very pleased that I shan't even mention the bit left behind."

I blinked at him. "Sorry, sir, but what bit?"

He nodded to a full length mirror nearby, beginning to hum to himself. "Take a look."

When I flicked on my Sight, I saw a mantle of ghostly dragon scales around me.

Huh. Well, _that_ would be hard to keep under wraps. "I don't suppose, sir, that you have any suggestions for how to keep this bit of information to myself? Seems best not to advertise it and all."

"Mmm," the Blackstar's humming was growing louder, "Phanuel's a dab hand at illusion work."

"Er, yes, but tessering to the center of the galaxy on a regular basis seems a tad excessive for this."

"Fortunately you have an arrangement with Jareth here, don't you?"

Jareth blinked at the Blackstar with eyes full of secrets and a smile on his lips.

The Blackstar had the same damned expression on his face. "Magic lessons, is it? Tuesdays? I would think this qualifies." He drummed his fingers together slowly, drawing out the pauses between each with separate hummed notes. "If Phanuel's a dab hand, our boy Jareth here is a downright magician."

Both Jareth and I glanced at each other, letting the "our boy" slide. There are some things you just allow gods emeriti to get away with. "Well," I said at last, "that's handy."

"Quite," said the Blackstar. "Speaking of, you may find that ring of yours handy. It used to do a fine bit of cloaking magic. Among other things."

This again seemed to be some inside joke that had even Cal giggling softly as he hid himself behind my arm. Insufferable, the lot of them.

I shook my head. "As long as it's not the one true ring to rule them all, I'm sure we'll figure it out."

They _all_ just blinked at me. Oh, for fuck's sake. Of course it had to be _that_ kind of ring.

Jareth's eyes did their spiral dance. I was tempted to flick my Sight on just to see what that looked like, but he finished up before I could. "Perhaps it would be useful to bind the ring beforehand. You know how feisty it can get."

"Too true, too true," said the Blackstar. "If you'd bring out the ring, dear Lady?"

I sighed and dug it out, holding it in my open palm on the table between us.

The Blackstar's humming had progressed to meaningless syllables that still managed to carry hints and whispers and promises. "Jareth, I believe you had a proposal for just such an occasion? You've quite the skill at toasts."

Between one breath and the next, the mint tea had been replaced with glasses of red wine. I took an experimental sniff of mine, and got a charming mix of cardamom and clove, with notes of dark chocolate. Cal eyed his with polite terror.

Jareth lifted his glass with one hand and let the fingers of his other hand slide gently across the ring in my palm.

I could have sworn the thing growled.

"If you'd care to join us?" Jareth said to the Blackstar.

"De- _lighted_ , dear boy," sang the Blackstar as he laid the tip of his index finger on top of Jareth's fingers. "Thanks ever so for asking."

"What about Cal?" I asked.

"Unnecessary for this," said Jareth.

"Good," said Cal, "because the answer would be _hell no_." He looked up briefly at the Blackstar. "Uh, hell no, _sir_."

The Blackstar looked at Cal benevolently. "Quite alright, little one. Such things are not to everyone's taste. Now, Jareth, your toast?"

Jareth hummed some of the Blackstar's melody to himself. "To friends who come for a song, who have unbound and bound a dragon, whose spirits rise a metre high, with eagles in their daydreams and diamonds in their eyes."

The ring snarled once between us, and then lay still as something snapped like thunder between me, Jareth, and the Blackstar. I felt that something germinate inside me like a seed given a vital kiss as the phantom dragon scales folded together and tucked themselves inside me. Not unpleasant, but certainly...disconcerting. The mantle, that seed...they were _there_ in a way I hadn't realized something could be. Much of a muchness came to mind. I suspected I should be worried about this.

However, I'd officially run out of fucks to give today. And besides, that illusory wine smelled _amazing_. I clinked my glass against Jareth and the Blackstar's. "To us."

"You know," said the Blackstar, "I have just the song for this. Three part arrangement. You'll just adore it, I'm sure."

"I'm sure," Jareth and I replied in perfect synchrony.

Cal sighed as he zipped out the door. "I'll be outside with the tumbleweeds."

* * *

 _And so ends this adventure romp, with its Blackstar David Bowie tribute embedded within. I hope you enjoyed it! I'm currently mulling the next fairy tale frame to continue Sarah's adventuring, so we'll see how things go. ;)_


End file.
